Dreams~

DREAMS

Trying to recall the plot
And characters we dreamed,
     What life was like
Before the morning came,
We are seldom satisfied,
     And even then
There is no way of knowing
If what we know is true.
     Something nameless
Hums us into sleep,
Withdraws, and leaves us in
     A place that seems
Always vaguely familiar.
Perhaps it is because
     We take the props
And fixtures of our days
With us into the dark,
     Assuring ourselves
We are still alive. And yet
Nothing here is certain;
     Landscapes merge
With one another, houses
Are never where they should be,
     Doors and windows
Sometimes open out
To other doors and windows,
     Even the person
Who seems most like ourselves
Cannot be counted on,
     For there have been
Too many times when he,
Like everything else, has done
     The unexpected.
And as the night wears on,
The dim allegory of ourselves
     Unfolds, and we
Feel dreamed by someone else,
A sleeping counterpart,
     Who gathers in
The darkness of his person
Shades of the real world.
     Nothing is clear;
We are not ever sure
If the life we live there
     Belongs to us.
Each night it is the same;
Just when we’re on the verge
     Of catching on,
A sense of our remoteness
Closes in, and the world
     So lately seen
Gradually fades from sight.
We wake to find the sleeper
     Is ourselves
And the dreamt-of is someone who did
Something we can’t quite put
     Our finger on,
But which involved a life
We are always, we feel,
     About to discover.

By Mark Strand~

Thoughts from Albert Einstein

This is pretty special and a very good thing to remember : )

The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives. 

Albert Einstein

Holding Space for Another~

I like this a great deal~ I find that I often do this in my work however never had these words for it~

"What does it mean to hold space for someone else? It means that we are willing to walk alongside another person in whatever journey they’re on without judging them, making them feel inadequate, trying to fix them, or trying to impact the outcome. When we hold space for other people, we open our hearts, offer unconditional support, and let go of judgement and control."

Anonyous

Simplly US

It's enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment. 

Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

Learning to love the rain~

Thank you Mark Nepo~ The deeper the cut, the redder the blood.  The deeper the experience, the richer  the wisdom. It has always taken  more time to reach the deep than  the surface. And so it is with  each other. It takes time to listen  our way beyond the cuts into the  depth of each other’s experience  where the richness of living waits.  This piece explores this mysterious  physic of the soul.     WITH THINGS THAT BREAK  What matters bears entering more  than once. This entering-more-than- once is a form of listening. It’s how  leaves in fall offer a deeper color on  rainy days. In that grayness, we look  again and the undertones have a  chance. I have a friend who moved  to Victoria; that lush isle off the coast  of Vancouver where winters seem  long and dreary. In her third winter,  someone born there pulled her aside  and said, “You have to learn to love  the rain. You have to spend more time  wet. Then you’ll have different names  for lazy squall and slanting mist. Then  the rain, as much as the sun, will  cause something in you to grow.”  It’s the same with things that break  our heart. Like learning to love the  stories of elders who repeat themselves.  You have to learn to love the slant of  their rain. To take the time to sense  what they can’t leave behind. With  things that are new, we keep moving.  With things that break, we circle back:  repeating and renaming till we can find  each other in the rain.  A Question to Walk With: Tell the story  of someone you know and how they  have endured being broken. What  have you learned from their journey?

About Alcohol~

Hello Dolly~

I hope this finds you well again, and enjoying today~

It worries me when you "rarely think about alcohol."  We can't afford not to think about alcohol almost every second of forever.  I don't mean in the forefront~ it just has to be a thought that is primary to our daily lives.  If you are doing a morning meditaion, you are thinking about it.  If you are ordering a sparkling water when out, you are thinking about it.  I feel that every move I make is "thinking about alcohol."  It's how I live each day...in a new way (living in a new way means we are thinking about alcohol because of the devastating impact it has on our lives and the lives of those we love) so that I don't return to it's use.  Thinking about it, keeps me humble, healthy, and fearless.  Every step of the Steps is thinking about alcohol.  

I know you will have to think this over : )  I so align myself with you in this way~ 

Your mom-in-law is darling~  I love the "whisper."  She is proud of you~

Love ya~ have a great day!

Cynthia

love above all~

An Ah-Ha Moment of incredible measure~

Months after my father died, I found myself in 

New York City, wandering through the 

Musuem of Modern Art, a place I love. 

On the third floor, in an exhibit featuring the 

work of Gauguin, I felt his presence strongly.

A WALK THROUGH TIME

Up 7th and over at 53rd, I’m back at MOMA.
The last time I was here, I came from the hos-
pital where my father was tethered, dangling
from his life, his shock of white hair looking
like Moses after he was stunned by the energy
of God’s face. But my father didn’t believe in
God, though he worshipped the sea. Today,
etchings by Gauguin who at 34 lost his job
when the French Stock Exchange crashed
and beyond his fear, his gift for painting
was waiting. No one wants to accept this.
But when the first dream comes down, the
real dream begins. With no formal training,
Gauguin was compelled to cross the sea till
he found himself in Tahiti carving mysterious
statues from old tree trunks. I’m now before a
woodblock of a woman listening to a voice in
the sky. She’s made of lime wood. The chisel
marks smell like the shavings in our basement
when I’d watch my father stroke the nicked up
surface of mahogany to reveal its woody center.
This is where we meet: craftsman, artist, poet.
I imagine the three of us in some café: Gauguin
impatient with us, my father wondering why I
brought us together, and me feeling awkward
but content, to know the place we all come
from.

A Question to Walk With: Tell the story of a time 

when one dream came apart which in time 

revealed another. What did you learn 

from this difficult unfolding?

- See more at: http://threeintentions.com/blog/#sthash.qnUEgsVD.dpuf